Never Did Run Smooth
by RedHeadChickie
Summary: The course of true love ne'er did run smooth...' A man with a past and a woman with a duty form an unexpected bond that takes greater root through time. But when his past and her duty collide, will love be strong enough to overcome? EC


Author's notes: Well, I'm at it again. This story made it's way into my head, and now it won't stop nagging me. I've been writing bits and pieces of it in my spare time. Bits and pieces turned into nearly 20 pages, and I decided I'd better write a beginning. Normally I haven't been too good at finishing long stories like this one is going to be, but I really am in love with this little brainchild of mine. Besides, most of the problem I have with finishing is that I don't have proper ends planned out, and if you don't have that you have no direction to the story. I started writing this story from the middle, and have from there on either entirely written or fairly well planned.

This is a modern-day fic. It is set in post- 9/11 New York City, probably 2003 because it takes place over the summer and I don't want to have to deal with the RNC a _second_ time. On second thought, the Blackout was that summer… I may incorporate it anyway. Good lord, too much happens in New York.

I know that by setting it in New York, I immediately fall into a LARGE stereotype of modern fics, but I can guarantee you that this fic is different. Wait till you find out what Christine does for a living. ;P I cannot guarantee that this fic will be good, but I'm fairly confident in my writing abilities and I'm really rather proud of what I've written.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Phantom of the Opera, Norah Jones' song "Sunrise," Frank Sinatra's version of "New York, New York," the Factory Café (which is a wonderful café; yes, it actually exists), or the Naked Cowboy (although that would be amazing).

---The Bar---

New York City never sleeps. Night or day, rain or shine, below freezing or boiling hot, you could always find people milling the streets; running to work, out on errands, caterwauling the streets after a night of celebration. It was a city of beautiful, powerful women and beautiful, powerful men as much as it was a city of abject poverty, a city of losers. Every language in the world, every religion in the world, can be found there. The entire globe comes here to resolve nearly apocalyptic tensions.

In general, New Yorkers take things in stride, sometimes 4-inch heel strides. Even after September 11th they sought normalcy as the world dissolved before their eyes. They take diplomats, snow, subway fires, and Law and Order shoots all as a part of a normal day. They could even learn to accept tourists as soon as said tourists learned how to _walk faster_, for God's sake!

All manner of people lived here. Poor people, rich people, celebrities, nobodies, anything in between. It's hard to be a freak in New York. Think modern artists. Think transvestites. Think Naked Cowboy.

Perhaps that's why Erik lived here. He could just imagine if he lived in some small town; he'd probably never be able to leave the house. It was possible that he could find a place to live in art communities such as San Francisco and Santa Fe, but there was more color in those cities and he owned a lot of black. As it was, he could sit in this artsy little club, sitting at the bar and sipping a drink, dressed all in black, and people would think the mask was just an "aesthetic" thing. The only people who really stared were tourists, and no self-respecting New Yorker paid them any mind.

Erik didn't normally go out to bars and clubs, but sometimes he found that he needed to get out of his apartment and participate in some semblance of human interaction. At least once in a while. He made sure to find places like this, though, places more likely to draw young people and artists and musicians than surly men that would transform into rowdy drunks.

He was regretting his decision to come here, however. At least tonight. Later, he would never regret making the trek down here as long as he lived. "I hate karaoke night," he muttered to himself, wincing as he witnessed a terrible singer attempting to sing an equally terrible popular song. It would teach him to come to a bar around NYU ever again, too many drunk college students. Thanking God silently when the dreadful girl finally ended his torment, he watched detachedly as another timidly approached the stage. He could tell she'd been bribed into it by her eager friends.

He noticed that she was quite beautiful, her long lashes lowered in slight embarrassment and her thick brown hair spilling in curls down her back and over her shoulders. He could also tell that she was most likely not a girl, but a woman: there was none of the typical college-girl silliness in her demeanor. She was young, certainly, but she was also very much an adult. She murmured something to the DJ and the man put on a track. Erik groaned, he recognized those chords. He actually _liked_ Norah Jones, and here was a girl out to destroy this tune...

Then she opened her mouth and sang. "Sunrise, sunrise, looks like mornin' in your eyes—"

Erik sat straight up, suddenly rapt with attention. Her pure, angelic, exquisite voice was like a breath of fresh air to a man who had been underground for years. Her entire demeanor had changed as well. She was well aware that she had the entire club in her thrall, and she rapidly gained confidence in herself. She was smiling now, and her entire face was lit up like a lamp.

Erik was completely enchanted. She'd had training, that much was certain. Her voice was slightly raw, so she clearly had not been classically taught, but she did not sing in the nose as so many popular singers did. Her emotions were clear through her voice, and her vibrato was faultless. Though the song itself did not call for such a voice, it was clear that she had powerful pipes when she needed them.

All too soon, in his opinion, she ended her last chord on her perfect vibrato, there was applause throughout the club, and she had stepped off the stage. He wrenched his attention away from her quickly, aware that he was staring. He turned back to the bar and focused on his drink. Though her wonderful voice enchanted him, he was determined to push her from his mind. It's not like she'd ever speak to him…

He was fairly surprised, then, when she plopped into the stool next to him. "A Manhattan, please," she said to the waiter.

He hesitated. He was not very good at social interaction… _Ah, what the hell_.

He leaned toward her. "I thought you sounded wonderful up there," he said, hoping she would know who he was addressing.

Evidently she did, because she turned to him and smiled. "Thanks," she replied. She paused for a moment, as though considering her next words. "I noticed you watching, so I figured I'd come over and say hi."

Erik flushed slightly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stare…"

"Don't worry about it." She smiled. "The fact that you're apologizing about it makes you better from the catcalls I normally get."

Understanding her desire to lighten the mood, Erik grinned slightly back. "I'd imagine," he remarked.

"Yeah," she said, as her drink came up. She turned more fully toward him, and at this gesture he did the same. "So do you like Norah Jones?"

"Actually, yes," he replied. "I have to admit a certain… dislike of contemporary music, but hers is surprisingly good."

"All contemporary music? Even jazz, or the Beatles?"

"Jazz is fine, and I suppose the Beatles are too… I find some of their songs to be silly, but some of their work is fine."

"You don't love the Beatles? Do you have a soul?" she asked, faking scandal.

He chuckled. "That's debatable."

She laughed. Erik found that he enjoyed the sound nearly as much as he enjoyed her singing. He was enthralled by her, not just her voice. She was intelligent and easy to speak to, and her humor was another breath of fresh air to one who was so used to New York's dry, sharp humor. She was not like other women he had met, sarcastic and disinterested. She was clearly engaged, and her laughter came freely. After a brief pause they heard the beginning notes of "New York, New York," and her face fell slightly. "Oh, I'm sorry, I have to go!" she cried. "I promised my friend I'd dance with her to this song, she just moved here."

"Ah," Erik said, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice. He missed her own regret.

"… Unless you'd like to dance with me?" she posed.

"Oh," he said, taken aback by her request. "Ah, I don't really dance…"

"Oh, alright then." She stood up to go. He now caught the regret in her voice, and it gave him pause. Was it possible that she was as fascinated by him as he was with her? Erik very much doubted it, and yet…

"…But perhaps we can meet tomorrow?" he asked, going out on a limb. Erik wanted to beat himself: he presumed far too much. He was just some guy she'd barely met at a bar, why should she want to meet him? His fears were dashed when she turned around, smiling.

"I don't tend to make plans with people's names I don't know," she replied.

"Erik," he replied, extending his hand. "Yours?"

"Christine," she answered, taking his hand and shaking it. "You know the Factory Café in the West Village?"

"Is that on Christopher St., between Hudson and Bleeker?"

"That's the one. I'll see you there around noon?"

"Absolutely." She smiled, and he couldn't help but return the favor.

"See you then, Erik," she called, turning around and making her way across the dance floor to her friends. He watched her for a moment, then threw money on the table to cover his tab and made his way toward the door.

He was fairly certain he had just picked up a woman he barely knew in a bar, which was not something that generally happened to him. A voice in the very back of his head told him that she might not be just another woman, but he had not progressed far enough to really hear that voice. He was still convinced that no woman could ever become interested in him, and he accepted this as a fact that would never change. Still, having a female friend would be a nice change. He was becoming too introverted, he reasoned with himself. He should find some other companions than Nadir. So he was able to silence the nagging feeling in the back of his head for a little while.

As he left the bar, Frank Sinatra's sultry voice wafted out the door after him.

"If I can make it there,

I'll make it anywhere!

It's up to you, New York, New York!"

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A/N: And so it begins! Please, tell me how you feel. Reviews are always, always welcome as long as they're constructive :)


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